Tribunal Sufficiency

As an author, I expect my work to be forgotten and ignored, for it is what my ilk deserve. All authors would benefit from accepting their triviality, laziness, and cowardice, for it frees them to all sorts of boldness that can cut to the heart of subjects better left not spurned.

The heart of this little bowel movement of mine is the Tribune Empire, from whom I derive great pleasure in meditating on.

Turn back the accursed clock many, many centuries, and we find our three cities under the rule of the aptly named Justice and the self-important and useless Royal dignitaries. I am amused to no end by the simplicity of primitive times and races. What a horrid number of years those must have been for an oppressed Easterly people, who were still dazed from their weaning of the Decobrian method. I will not be idiotic and say that any of those Miruvhian people, even for a moment, thought of the Bloodletting as threatening! The lot of them were masochists, and I believe strongly that they survived by irony, but their lusting hearts were tampered with by the vicious pull of the West! "Civilize them", they said! "What use is the East but a road for our trade?" asked others. How blind!

Deliberately so, O', were those blind eyes in the West. The power of Dyphreties ever stronger, they simply could not look, but arrogant all, wished they to change! Alas, they are yet today blind. The Watchers ever still make a mockery of Val Miran's defenses, and the Great Thulgan makes merry himself in his endless power as the trophies of Rheydin's dead adorn his mantelpiece! What said the Tribune Empire of any of this? Where sit they, other than on their hands?

Nothing. Vast portions of nothing, enough to gut one of appetite. Where Royalty presumed to change hearts, the Tribune Empire adheres to mechanics suited to the likes of clockwork in Brambuss workshops. Dance or die. But dance the heart, O' no! They care nothing for the heart, for in their breasts they have none! Prax, beautiful Prax, where has he gone? And again, sweet Hepheus, so emotionally dead, so strict and cold! See I in him empty room where endless pleasures could fill! Luscious, gray, noiseless, vacuous space.

Besides splendid Order, the Tribune gave the East back something it had been robbed of. Wake up you nincompoop and read carefully now, for I will have none of your Equilibratic presuppositions ruining my text! The scales swing, of course, but the levels of explanation climb upwards! Once there was Decobru and wanton abandon. Then there was vile Western impulse bringing Miruvhor to its emotional knees. Then there was the Tribune, enacting strict laws concerned only with the physical motion of one's body and nothing else. There, my abhorrent reader, is the fuel of the new Miruvhian age, which has been kindling for centuries.

Can you not now see why Galvatar Xebonn failed to return Miruvhor to the Decobrian splendor? His reign was trapped in the valley of a time where the West influenced everything! The world yet clung to an ancient eudemonia long crushed under the heel of the Nameless, and the Gods of Nature ever frazzled still allowed their apes and curs to attack brothers who were never their enemies in the first place. Be it seen here first that, since the Cataclysm, no true glory had ever been awarded the East, since the Gods of Death and Chaos justly take, whereas the Gods of Life criminally give.

Shove they down the throats of the innocent ideas which would rob their hearts of every free desire they so fully deserve!

But the Tribune Empire? O', beloved Tribunes. You do no such thing. Yes, sweet Adjudicator, I shall dance for you. Dance away into the night. Sheath your blade. Hold back the spell-speaking of your lips. Do not spit! I love it. I love it! So disgustingly easy, so permitting of apathy and pleasure. Command every muscle but the heart, and the people of the East will see themselves rise to the expectations of Dyphreties once more.

BOEQ